


I'd Find You (Comin' Through Some Door)

by mangocianamarch



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Gay Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, THEY'RE IN LOVE THEY JUST REFUSE TO ACKNOWLEDGE IT, coz like why would dean do the thing he does here, gormitage - Freeform, if they didn't ykiwm, omg i'm giving shit away in the tags pls forgive and just read teEHEE, richard is awkward and dean is a flirt, these two numbnuts i swEAR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-02-09 09:03:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1977003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangocianamarch/pseuds/mangocianamarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you…” Richard starts, “Are you sure, Dean?”</p><p>“Deathly so,” Dean is just a little too quick to reply, and that right there should be it. It should put Richard off, should tell Richard to turn him down (for now?) and tell him he’s exhausted (he isn’t). It should be enough to remind Richard that after everything that happened, going out with Dean when he hasn’t seen or heard from him since December would probably just end in another fight, and that’s not something he wants or needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fic in a long time omg pls forgive.
> 
> I've had the world's worst writers' block, my commissioned fics are all suffering from it, my on-going WIPs are suffering from it, and then suddenly this plot bunny hit and I just couldn't let it get away. :P
> 
> This wasn't meant to be a two-parter, but it's going to be, because the writers' block has struck again BUT rest assured this one WILL get finished. :D
> 
> Usual disclaimers apply, and as always, I am un-beta'd, so any and all mistakes are mine, and you have every right and freedom to let me know if you find anything so I can fix it _tout de suite_.

With a low exhale, Richard steps out the door, into the night, and into the small crowd of fans waiting for him. As usual there’s a bit of jostling happening, but on the whole everyone is polite and patient (aside from a few that he suspects are only autograph hunters), respectfully asking him for pictures and his signature. He shares smiles and jokes with them, thanks them when they compliment him on his acting and the production in general, and to be honest, it’s starting to look like any other night so far, much to Richard’s relief.

“You were fantastic.”

Richard _just_ finishes signing something for a fan when the all-too familiar voice makes him whip halfway around. He imagines the expression on his face is a crazy mixture of “What?!” and “Huh?” and “Oh no!” and “Oh God!” and much to his own horror, he can feel something rising up his throat.

He’s going to say something. Oh no. _Oh no_.

“…Dean.”

Ah. Not too bad then.

Dean gives him that trademark side smirk and small quirk of his head, his curls catching the streetlight. It makes something catch in Richard’s voice box, and for a moment he feels like he’s about 4 years old again. He points awkwardly at the poster he’s meant to sign next. “I’ll just…” he tries, but doesn’t get much farther than that.

Fortunately, Dean seems to understand, judging by the way he puts up a hand and says “It’s fine, I’ll wait here.”

A few other people seem to have realized who Richard has been talking to, because now they’re walking up to Dean and asking him if he’s Dean O’Gorman. “No,” Richard hears Dean reply, “I’m the guy they hired at the last minute to replace him.” Some girls around Dean giggle, and Richard has to clear his throat to keep from joining them.

20 minutes later, and the crowds around them both have dispersed. Dean proves, as usual, to be true to his word – he’s still standing where Richard saw him, his hands in the pockets of his poufy jacket.

“Hi,” is the first thing that leaves Richard’s mouth.

“Hi back,” Dean answers, still unmoving.

“I didn’t know you were in town,” Richard says a little lamely, “I’d have…you know…”

At least, he _hopes_ Dean knows, because he himself doesn’t. What _would_ he have done? Called him? Asked to meet him somewhere? Cooked him dinner then shoved him against a wall and sucked his cock until he couldn’t breathe anymore? Sat across a table from him, not saying a word?

“It was a great show,” Dean says, and Richard recognizes that soothing, placating note in his voice – Dean knows him too well, “You were fantastic. I nearly cried.”

“ _Just_ nearly?” Richard can’t help but tease.

“I don’t cry, I just have overactive tear glands, I told you that,” Dean jokes, and it elicits an easy laugh from Richard. It always has. “So…Too exhausted to go for a late-night snack with me or something?”

Richard feels his stomach turn to ice. Dean’s grin is still gentle and charming, and the look on his face is calm. “Are you…” Richard starts, “Are you sure, Dean?”

“Deathly so,” Dean is just a little too quick to reply, and that right there should be it. It should put Richard off, should tell Richard to turn him down (for now?) and tell him he’s exhausted (he isn’t). It should be enough to remind Richard that after everything that happened, going out with Dean when he hasn’t seen or heard from him since December would probably just end in another fight, and that’s not something he wants _or_ needs.

But he’s missed him. God, has he missed Dean. Missed that simple smile and his little laugh and his ridiculous dimples and the infuriating way he’s always using his hands when he talks. He’s missed Dean really, _really_ bad.

“Give me five minutes,” Richard tells him, “I just need to get my things and say goodnight to everyone.”

“I’ll wait right here,” Dean says again, and Richard feels his ears turn red as he turns on his heel and leaves him there, where he has promised he’ll wait.

_There’s_ something he didn’t miss.

“ _You know what, Rich? Fine, just…Look, go if you want to go, I’m tired of fighting, I hate fighting with you, I hate shouting at you, I hate you shouting at me, and I hate that fucking look on your face, just…Fucking go, if you want to, okay? I’m not…I’m just…I’ll wait right here._ ”

He hadn’t seen Dean again after that, not since then. He hadn’t gone back until the next morning, when he was sure Dean had left the room. He’d gone just to take his things so he could move to the floor below. He’d received radio silence from Dean since then, and had sent the same. He’d never even apologized to Dean.

And yet here Dean is – or _there_ , in this case – waiting for him outside the theatre so he can take him out for “a late-night snack or something,” as if _nothing_ had happened. As if Richard hadn’t…

He’s in and out before he’s really aware of it. He doesn’t remember saying goodnight to everyone inside and doesn’t remember grabbing his bag and phone, too lost was he in contemplating the _why’s_ and the _how’s_ of Dean being here now.

“Ready?”

Dean’s voice cuts through Richard’s reverie, and when he blinks his vision back into focus, the first thing that clears is Dean’s face. “Yeah,” Richard replies, pleasantly surprised to find his voice calm despite the tumult his emotions were in not two seconds ago, “Where do you want to go?”

“I was thinking pizza.”

“I know a great place.”

~+~+~+~+~+~+~

“So, you’re putting up another exhibit.”

Dean shrugs as he spoons some ice cream into his mouth. Richard can see in his peripheral that Dean’s feet are just barely touching the ground – the benches in this park always were unnecessarily high. “I’d like to,” Dean answers, eyes in his ice cream cup as he digs some fudge onto the vanilla, “I mean, I’ve got the images and everything, been editing and stuff, but you know…yeah, that’d be nice, I just don’t know when.”

“Busy with work?” Richard asks. He hasn’t had as much of his chocolate ice cream as Dean already has – he’s been too busy asking things.

“Sort of,” Dean replies with another tiny jerk of his shoulders, “Moved house too, so that was something. There’s a studio space in it now, thank God.”

Richard can’t help but smirk at the note of relief in Dean’s voice.

“I haven’t taken _your_ picture yet,” Dean states matter-of-factly.

Richard chokes a little, and not just because he put too much ice cream in his mouth too fast. “You’ve taken my picture _loads_ of times,” he says. He can feel Dean watching him and is quietly thankful that it’s dark out.

“Not your portrait though,” Dean corrects him, “Not like I’ve done with the other guys, like Aidan and Adam.”

It’s Richard’s turn to shrug. “I’m not a very photogenic person,” he says.

“Said the man who’s had, like, 500 magazine spreads in the past year alone,” Dean snorts.

Richard has to laugh. “Maybe next time I’m down there then,” he offers as a bit of a lark.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dean cock his head to one side. “Is that a promise, Rich?” he asks, and that signature rasp in his voice sends a jolt down Richard’s spine that has nothing to do with the night breeze.

“Is that a challenge, Dean?” he shoots back before he can stop himself, “You know how I react to challenges.”

“I may or may not be looking forward to that, actually,” answers Dean, and there’s no denying the edge in his tone. But then Dean chuckles a little, as if trying to diffuse whatever it is in the air between them. “I’m serious, though. I kind of feel like your portrait would be the _piece de resistance_ of the whole thing. Like the Holy Grail of portraits. Or the Arkenstone of portraits.”

Richard snorts, and Dean laughs again. “Fine then,” Richard replies, “If it means that much to you.”

Dean’s smile is gentle this time. “It does, it really does,” he says, “Thank you, Richard.”

“Don’t mention it,” Richard answers automatically.

“Not until it’s over, at least,” Dean teases, “So…Back to my hotel for drinks? Or is that too ‘establishment?’”

“Getting late though,” Richard points out.

“I thought tomorrow was your day off.”

“It is, yeah.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

_Everything_ , Richard thinks to himself, _Everything I did. Everything I said. Everything that happened and didn’t happen afterwards._

Dean has a look on his face that’s entirely too much like Aidan’s when he wants something but isn’t sure how to ask for it. That ridiculously adorable begging-puppy face. “Aw, come on, Dickie,” Dean kids, “It’s my last night here, I fly out tomorrow afternoon. _Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease_?”

Dean flashes his pearly whites, and there’s a rare occurrence if Richard’s ever seen one – Dean barely ever smiles with his teeth out. “Ugh, fine,” Richard mock-groans, “Since you put it _that_ way.”

“Choice,” Dean rejoices with a slight pump of his fist, “Onward ‘til the morning then, my good King.”

He jumps (quite literally) off the bench as he crumples up his empty ice cream cup and tosses it into the bin just beside. He shoves his hands into his pockets and turns expectantly towards Richard.

~+~+~+~+~+~+~

“…Then I talked to the people at Tate Modern, and they sounded interested enough, especially when they realized I was in the _Hobbit_ movies, like that makes me some sort of big deal.”

He lifts his beer bottle up and Richard tries to focus on _anything_ but Dean’s lips on it. “That’s great, Dean,” he says encouragingly, “Really great. I’m very happy for you. And proud. Although very confused as to why you’d wanna ruin something as good as that with my ugly mug.”

Dean laughs a little. “Who said anything about you ruining anything?” he says, “And hey, if it really _does_ ruin the thing – it won’t, Rich, don’t even start – I’ll just keep your portrait for myself.”

“And what in the name of all things holy and sacred could you ever want with a portrait of me?” Richard jokes.

Dean gives a tiny quirk of his shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll think of something,” he says, dropping his tone just that little bit, and Richard _knows_ now that bringing him here was intentional.

Richard swallows his vodka and puts his glass down slowly. “Dean, are you flirting with me?” he asks, unsure if he wants to know the answer.

“Maybe,” Dean chuckles, “Why? Is it bothering you?”

Richard clears his throat. “It’s just…” he starts, because he can’t lie to Dean, he’s never been able to, “I just didn’t think…you know…after…”

He can’t bring himself to finish. He feels his stomach drop to somewhere around the region of his toes.

Dean scoots a little closer, and maybe that’s because Richard isn’t so much _not_ looking at him as looking _away from_ him. “Rich,” Dean says softly, surreptitiously looking around to make sure no one’s really watching, “You didn’t honestly think I came out here, all the way out here, just for my photography, did you?”

“Seems a worthier cause to me than coming all this way out here for _me_ ,” Richard answers honestly.

Dean shakes his head and lets out a small laugh. “Always so self-deprecating.”

“I hurt you,” Richard says, as if Dean needed reminding.

“That was a long time ago, Rich,” Dean states simply.

“Six months ago.”

“A _long_ time ago.”

“You didn’t speak to me again.”

“I was angry. And by the way, neither did you, with me I mean.”

“I was…I don’t know. Ashamed?”

“That you cheated on me.”

“That I hurt you. But yes, that too.”

Dean watches him quietly for a while, before bringing his empty beer bottle closer – a clever way to disguise what he’s doing with his hand. “I’ve missed you,” Dean tells him softly, “And yes, I was angry with you, and I didn’t really know what to say. There was a time I was waiting for you to apologize too.”

“I tried,” Richard promises, “I really did.”

“I know,” Dean assures him, “I just wasn’t sure I was ready to accept it at the time.”

“So you’re telling me you are now?” asks Richard.

Dean’s finger is stretched out and stroking along Richard’s gently, almost feather-like in its touch. “I don’t…I don’t actually know, to be honest with you,” Dean says, “I came here for you, sure, but when I stood out there and saw you come out the door, I thought ‘Fuck, I didn’t think this through.’ But here we are now, I guess. Here we fucking are, eh?”

Dean’s touch on Richard’s finger is starting to tingle in the most pleasant and tempting way possible. “So you came all the way here for sex, is that it?” Richard teases, trying to diffuse the situation, but when he looks up at Dean, he sees a very familiar expression in his already dilating eyes.

 “You sound surprised,” Dean chuckles, “No, Richard, I didn’t come out here just for sex. I came out here for you, coz I’ve missed you, and maybe – _maybe_ – I’m not exactly over you. Maybe I came over here because I heard good things about your show and wanted to support you, and maybe I came out here to work things out with you while I was at it.”

Richard ducks his head to keep from smiling, but bites his lip to keep himself in check. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he says, but Dean shakes his head.

“Not here,” instructs Dean, “Not yet.” His other hand digs into his jeans pocket and fishes out his key card. “Not a word until we get there.”

And with that, Dean is standing from the bar stool and heading out.

Richard downs the rest of his drink as he waits for Dean to vanish out the door of the hotel’s restaurant, and then he’s following, headed for the lifts.

~+~+~+~+~+~+~

**TBC.**

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I AM SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO damn sorry it took me literally _months_ to get this finished! writers' block + real life + stress at work = kill meeeeeeeeeee. i hope this lives up to the wait tho. i sort of don't think so, even at 7,900 words (17 pages on MS Word, font face calibri, font size 8), but y'all be the judge. thanks so much for reading the first chapter and for waiting as long as you did for this, i love you guys, i honestly do.

It’s with some trepidation that Richard knocks on Dean’s hotel room door. He nearly doesn’t. He wants to be here – _God_ , does he want to be here, in _there_ with Dean – but that other part of him that keeps telling him that this isn’t the best idea in the world just won’t shut up.

_You know you’re going to regret this. Whether in the morning, or a week from now, or when you see each other again in December, you’re going to regret this. You’re going to remember what it was like to look him in the eye and tell him the truth about what you did and with who, and he’s going to remember exactly what you told him, and he’s going to absolutely hate you and wonder what the fuck got into him to make him come all this way just to see you. And then you’re going to hate yourself because he won’t be able to fucking look you in the eye anymore without wanting to punch your nose in._

But that’s exactly what he finds Dean doing when the door swings open: Dean is looking him right in the eye, signature smirk causing a trademark dimple to split his cheek.

“What took you?” Dean asks, voice quiet and low.

 _The fact that I wasn’t sure I should be here_ , Richard thinks to himself. Instead, he shrugs, hands shoved into his pants pockets.

Dean’s smile turns borderline feral. “Get in here,” he mutters, grabbing Richard by the shirt and pulling him in. Lips crash against lips as Dean pushes the door closed behind Richard, and then Richard’s back is against the wall, Dean pressed against his front.

Dean is taking the lead, and he’s hungry and needy, almost desperate if Richard has the energy to stop and think about it. Richard doesn’t mind. He clasps Dean by the waist and pulls him closer, although he’ll probably never be sure if he does that of his own accord. He feels Dean push a knee between his legs, and he unconsciously grinds against Dean’s hip, making him chuckle into Richard’s mouth.

“I’ve missed you,” Dean breathes, kissing at Richard’s chin even as he’s pulling Richard’s shirt free of their tuck into his jeans, “God, I’ve fucking missed you.” A hand slips down to fit itself against Richard’s groin, and Richard groans into Dean’s hair as Dean laughs a little. “Missed me too, did you?”

“Christ,” Richard hisses, pulling Dean to him roughly and kissing him for all he’s worth. Dean chuckles again, moving his hand against Richard. He can feel the heat of it even through his denims, and he can’t help but moan at the pressure. A nip at his bottom lip makes Richard open his mouth to Dean, who licks into him, just at the roof of his mouth. The fingers of Dean’s other hand are skimming along the skin of Richard’s back, almost feather-light in their touch.

When Dean’s mouth travels down Richard’s jawline again, his hands move past his shirt and start exploring the expanse of Richard’s chest. His fingers brush lightly over Richard’s nipples, but it’s enough to push a whimper out of him.

“Dean, I don’t…” Richard breathes, one hand around Dean’s wrist, although whether to stop him or keep him going, he’s not sure, “I don’t think --”

“Don’t think,” Dean tells him, kissing at his Adam’s Apple, “not the best time and place to think.” As if for emphasis, Dean tugs at Richard’s shirt. Richard is only half-conscious of stepping back and letting Dean take the shirt off of him, and even less aware of when Dean starts kissing his way down Richard’s body, until he’s on his knees in front of him and working away at Richard’s belt buckle and fly.

There’s a part of Richard’s brain that’s calling out to him. He can hear it screaming at him to stop this, stop this right fucking now before it’s too late, before Richard regrets coming here at all, but just as he’s about to tell it to shut the hell up already, Dean pulls Richard’s denims down, just above his knees. Wordlessly, he mouths at Richard’s half-awake cock through his boxer briefs.

“Oh God,” Richard hisses, already feeling limp and boneless, and Dean’s barely done anything to him. _Bastard_.

“Hello there,” Dean snorts affectionately when he pulls Richard’s underwear down at last, “Long time, no see. And who’s fault is that again, eh?”

“Joke or suck, Dean, fucking _choose one_ ,” Richard exhales.

Dean chuckles softly, fist tight and slow around Richard’s dick. “Easy, big guy,” he says, pecking at Richard’s hip, “You’ve missed me, haven’t you?” He plants chaste but purposeful kisses up the shaft of Richard’s erection, still held tight in his hand.

“You know I have,” Richard sighs, and it turns into a moan when Dean’s tongue flicks out at the slit of his cock, “Oh God, Dean, please.”

“I like you begging,” Dean says, and with that, he closes his mouth around the head of his hard-on, hollows his cheeks, and sucks.

Richard growls low behind his teeth, one hand balled into a fist, the other clutching at Dean’s fingers where they’re gripping his hip. He bends his head and watches Dean move on him, his cock disappearing into Dean’s mouth slowly. He can hear Dean sighing and moaning quietly, can see the way his lips wrap around Richard’s shaft, can feel Dean’s tongue running along the vein underneath. Richard’s fist shakes as he tries not to place it on Dean’s head and make him move faster.

“Relax, babe,” he just vaguely hears Dean say, “I’ve got you. Relax.”

So Richard does. He lets Dean’s touch soothe him, and he leans back against the wall, trying to keep his breathing even as Dean’s hand moves across his skin as if seeking out where he’s tense to help him loosen up. It becomes a little harder to _stay_ relaxed when Dean’s hand finds its way to his balls just as he relaxes his jaw and pulls more of Richard’s length into his mouth.

“Dean, _shit_ ,” hisses Richard, and he pounds his fist into the wall behind him.

“Easy,” Dean laughs sweetly, “You’re okay, Rich, you’re okay.”

“I won’t be if you keep doing that,” Richard snorts as Dean gently tugs and squeezes at his sac, “Oh fuck, keep doing that.”

Dean chuckles again, and it’s hot against Richard’s skin. “Do you want me here, Rich?” he asks genially, as if merely offering him a side of fries.

“Yes,” Richard answers automatically, “Fuck, yes. Dean…”

Dean readjusts until he can put his lips on Richard’s balls, and he lets out an obscene smacking sound as the suction of his mouth releases them. Richard follows it with a cut-off moan, and then Dean’s mouth is there again, his tongue joining this time, and Richard feels his knees actually wobble.

Dean seems to take that as a sign, and he eases off, slipping his lips around Richard’s cock again, keeping a generally slow pace. Richard is almost grateful, but then Dean is devilish; Dean always knows exactly how softly or firmly to touch him, where to put his tongue, when it’s okay to graze him lightly with his teeth, how hard to suck on his cock and when. Dean knows him too well, and before long, his fist is closed tight again, blunt nails digging into his palm, as he tries to stay in control and not fuck into the wet heat of Dean’s mouth.

He suddenly becomes aware of a slight pressure at his rim. Not strong, nor invasive, but _there_. Light, teasing, insistent. Richard clenches involuntarily, and he feels his stomach turn over inside him, and then he’s biting his lip and trying very, _very_ hard indeed not to lose his grip on his self-control.

He hears rather than feels Dean pull away with a rather lascivious _pop_. “I want to fuck you, Richard,” he murmurs, nosing at Richard’s pelvis and kissing at his skin reverently, “Will you let me fuck you?”

He sounds so sweet and innocent, it’s almost as though all he’s asking for is a kiss goodnight or an extra slice of pizza. It should be _ridiculous_ , really. And it _has_ been, in the past. But not tonight. Not right now.

“Rich?”

When Richard becomes aware of Dean again, he’s looking up at him with expectant but apprehensive eyes. He can only imagine what his expression must look like to Dean right now. He swallows thickly and tries to ease the muscles in his face.

“Yes,” Richard says at last, if a bit hoarsely, “Yes, I want you to fuck me, Dean.”

The smile Dean gives him is borderline predatory as he rises to his feet. Richard tries to say something, but Dean’s mouth is on his again, greedier this time, fingers _digging_ into Richard’s flesh as he pulls him close with one hand, the other wrapped tight around Richard’s dick and jerking it quick.

“I’ve really fucking missed you,” Dean pants between kisses, “Strip.”

Richard wastes no time obeying, although he has just a bit of difficulty toeing his leather shoes off. His pants and underwear follow, and then he’s sitting himself down on the edge of Dean’s bed to pull his socks off. The whole time, he watches Dean, who is divesting himself of his clothes as if they’ve got all the time in the world. Dean removes his shoes first, then his watch and bracelet. His cardigan goes next, and Richard fleetingly thinks he might ask Dean to put it back on after he’s removed the rest of his clothing – he just really loves the way it fits him. Dean’s shirt follows the rest of his clothes, and then he starts undoing his belt and his fly. It’s then that Richard (unconsciously?) licks at his bottom lip. Dean sees.

“See something you like, do you?” he teases with a little laugh, dimples out in full force.

“Maybe,” Richard replies with a small shrug, “You’re not naked.”

“No, Richard, no I am not,” Dean answers matter-of-factly as he approaches Richard, “Why? Does it matter?”

Dean stands between Richard’s spread legs, arms resting on Richard’s shoulders. Richard’s fingers rest at the waistband of Dean’s loose trousers, although he’s itching for more. “I want to see you,” Richard says, kissing Dean’s stomach, which earns him a soft sigh.

“Such a fucking sap,” Dean chuckles, but there is a heated edge to his tone now that Richard supposes can’t be helped considering Richard’s lips are reacquainting themselves with Dean’s skin, “What did I ever see in you?”

“I’ve been asking myself that, coincidentally enough,” Richard says without thinking. It’s another five or so seconds before he realizes what it is he said, and he pulls away with a sad little breath.

Dean must be thinking the same thing, because he bends and plants kisses in Richard’s hair, whispering his name quietly. “Let’s not talk about that now, okay?” he offers, “Let’s just focus on the here and now, and we’ll deal with the past when we have more blood in our brains than in our cocks. Yes?” He tilts Richard’s head up a little and kisses his forehead.

It _sounds_ like Dean’s forgiven him. Richard wants to believe he has. He wraps his arms around Dean’s thighs and pulls him close, cheek resting on Dean’s tummy. “Yes,” he answers as Dean’s fingers stroke through Richard’s hair soothingly.

When Dean bends down again, it’s to kiss Richard. This time it’s slow, leisurely and sweet. It does nothing, however, to keep Richard from moaning into Dean’s mouth and tugging at the belt hooks of Dean’s pants. When this only makes Dean lick at Richard’s lip, Richard moves his hand until he’s cupping Dean through his denims.

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, forehead touching Richard’s, “Fuck yeah, Rich…” When he kisses Richard again, his tongue is there too, and he groans into Richard’s mouth. Richard finds his wrist in Dean’s grip, and then his hand is being shoved down the front of his boxers. Richard instinctively closes around the hot, hard flesh of Dean’s erection.

Dean lets out a choked moan. “God,” he hisses, straightening to finally push his jeans and underwear off his hips, “That’s for you, babe, d’you see that?”

Dean barely ever called Richard _babe_ , even back when they _were_ together. He thinks he might be getting addicted to it now. He responds by tightening his fist around Dean and twisting his hand just _so_ on the up-stroke. Dean lets out a hard cuss, hips bucking forward a little.

“S’good, Rich,” Dean breathes, “Real good. Yeah, a little faster…Fuck, there you go...That’s it, babe, just like that…”

Richard watches Dean’s face run a gamut of expressions, listens to the way his voice drops and his breath shortens as he keeps his firm pace. Dean’s eyes are squeezed closed, his jaw slack and his tongue darting out every now and then to wet his drying lips, and Richard thinks he’s so fucking beautiful like this. Without thinking, he runs his thumb across the sensitive slit at the head of Dean’s prick, his fingers sliding along the vein at the same time.

“Shit!” Dean groans, falling forward a little and having to put his hand on Richard’s shoulder for support, “God, Richard.”

Dean’s hand travels up Richard’s neck, and he pulls Richard to him for a ravenous kiss. Richard’s grip on Dean’s length tightens convulsively, and Richard can’t help but swallow the full moan that escapes Dean’s mouth and into his.

But then Dean is pulling his hand away, chest heaving as he breathes heavily. “You could make me come like that, you know,” he tells Richard, laughing as if in disbelief, “Fucking haven’t lost your touch, have you?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Richard says, pointing out the unintended pun in Dean’s question.

Dean chortles again. “You’re so fucking smug,” he says, “I may just need to fuck that right out of you.”

Richard leans backward, hands planted on the mattress behind him. He’s not sure, but he thinks he spreads his knees just a little wider. “Be my guest,” he invites.

Dean smirks out of the corner of his mouth. “Don’t mind if I do,” he tells Richard, “On your front then, Mr Armitage.”

Richard scrambles – _scrambles_ – to do as he’s told, and in retrospect he should probably be a little bit embarrassed at how eager he looks, but fuck, this is _Dean_. They have _history_. He was _in love with him_ once.

_Once?_

No, that last one is a lie.

He was _always_ in love with Dean. He just…didn’t take good care of what he had before.

The thought tempers Richard a bit, and he bows his head into the pillow and closes his eyes as if it might ward the negativity away. _Here and now_ , he tries to remind himself, _remember what Dean said. Focus on the here and now._

Unable to see, he listens instead to what’s going on around him. He hears metal clinking and fabric falling to the floor – Dean has rid himself of the rest of his clothes. Soft footsteps on the carpeted floor, and then the unmistakable rolling of rubber on metal as Dean most likely opens a bedside drawer. The mattress shifts underneath him, then he feels Dean’s lips on his shoulder blades, gently kissing their way down his spine.

Richard sighs, his entire body relaxing for the first time all night. He can feel Dean kneeling between his spread legs, Dean’s tongue dipping into the small of Richard’s back, before his hands run up the back of Richard’s calves and thighs until they’re both full of Richard’s bum. Dean gives him gentle squeezes and rubs here, and Richard lets out quiet mewls into the pillow he’s clutching to himself.

“Fat ass,” Dean jokes unexpectedly, and it makes Richard positively guffaw, muffled by his arm.

“You love my fat ass,” Richard remarks as Dean continues to kneed his cheeks.

“Mmm, that I do, sir,” Dean confirms, “That I fucking do.”

Dean runs his finger along the crack of Richard’s ass, just enough to tease, but he doesn’t press in, not yet. His other hand pulls one cheek a bit to the side, probably to give him a better view.

“How long has it been, Rich?” Dean asks.

“Since you?”

“Since _anyone_. In here, I mean.”

Richard feels himself flush. “Been some time, I must admit,” he tells Dean, but knows Dean didn’t ask so he could gloat or judge.

“I’ll be careful,” Dean promises, “You trust me, right?” A little less sure of himself on that one.

Richard nods. “Of course,” he answers, “Not that you could tell by the way I’m spread out naked in front of you with my arse in your hands or anything.”

“Shut up,” Dean snorts affectionately, “You’ve got such a lovely bum on you.”

Richard jerks a little out of surprise when he feels Dean’s lips smack a kiss just above his pucker. Unexpected, but not unpleasant. It really _has_ been a while.

“Dean, I’m…” he starts, a little uncertain.

“No?” Dean inquires softly.

 _I don’t know_ , Richard almost wants to say. But Dean saves him the trouble of stammering out an awkward apology when he kisses at Richard’s shoulder blade again.

“It’s okay,” Dean assures him, “We won’t do anything you’re not sure you want right now. We can get back to that next time. Baby steps, eh?”

 _“Next time_.” _There’s going to be a next time._

Richard loses himself in the thought so much that he actually is startled by Dean’s slicked finger slowly pushing into him up to the second knuckle.

He must’ve jumped a little, or made some sort of noise, because Dean asks, “You okay?”

Richard swallows. “Fine,” he reassures Dean, “Just…lube’s cold.”

Dean giggles a little. “Yeah, good air-conditioning tends to cause that,” he says.

“Fuck you,” Richard snorts, but is cut-off when Dean pushes another inch of his finger into him.

“I believe the idea for tonight is the other way around,” he tells Richard, “God, you’re gonna be tight. I’ll take good care of you, Rich, don’t worry.”

He slides all the way in, slow and measured, and Richard lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding in.

“Okay?” Dean asks again.

“Move,” Richard pleads.

Dean obliges, withdrawing only a scant half-inch before he drives his finger back inside. He goes in small, short bursts, letting Richard readjust to the feeling first. It’s not until Richard’s breathing has evened out that he starts to curl his finger to the first knuckle as it pushes inward.

Richard whimpers, burying the sound in the sheets underneath him. Dean takes this as his cue, and he pulls more of his finger out this time, sliding it back in a bit quicker and rougher now.

“Oh my God,” Richard sighs, fingers digging into the pillowcase, “Dean…fuck…”

“I love hearing you say my name,” answers Dean, who rewards Richard with a second slippery finger. He goes slow again, and Richard follows the motion with a groan.

“Still good?” Dean asks, voice low and tone heavy.

“Yeah,” Richard exhales, “Keep going, Dean, please.”

Dean pumps his fingers into Richard’s channel in small thrusts again, and Richard can feel a bit of burn starting from the stretch. He finds he’s missed it though, and when he hears Dean spit at where his fingers and Richard’s skin meet, he gasps.

“Faster,” Richard begs, and Dean lets out a quiet growl. He does as Richard asks, twisting his fingers a little now as Richard’s slicked passage starts to gradually adjust to him.

There’s more voice and less breath in Richard’s sounds now, and he finds himself grinding back onto Dean’s hand. The sting of the stretch is still there, but he’s actually _seeking_ it, because he likes the thought that _Dean_ is doing that to him and making him feel that.

“Easy, Rich,” he hears Dean say, but somehow he knows Dean doesn’t mean it very much, “Fuck, I can feel you clenching around my fingers…You are fucking greedy, you really want this, don’t you?”

Dean doesn’t give him time to answer; he spreads his fingers apart minutely, but it’s enough to make Richard punch out a groan. “Yeah, fuck,” Richard pants, his belly contracting a bit at the feeling that has started to pool there.

“More?”

“More.”

Another few millimetres or so, and Richard’s moan turns into a needy whimper. Dean lets him keep on fucking himself on Dean’s hand, but Richard apparently didn’t think this through; he’s pressed flat into the bed, and his every grind against Dean causes his cock to rub into the sheets. Richard isn’t sure what he needs more – the friction on his erection or the stretch in his arse.

He compromises by moving a little faster, but it only serves to make the heat from both sides worse, especially when Dean, muttering a quiet warning, spreads his fingers a little more and then starts scissoring them inside him.

“Ah, shit!” Richard hisses, “Oh fuck, Dean…Fuck, it’s so good…”

Dean says nothing. Instead, he pushes his fingers together again and curls them at _just_ the right time, and –

“FUCK!”

Richard’s hips actually buck upward almost off the bed, his entire body jerking and stilling.

“There it is,” Dean gloats, “Do you want it there, Richard?”

Richard nods fervently. “Yes, fuck yes, Dean, _please_ ,” he says, and he knows he sounds just _this side_ of pathetic now, but he just doesn’t want to care. That felt so damn good, and oh _God_ , Dean just did it again, and _fuck_ , again…

“You sound so good,” Dean tells Richard, “Come on, Rich, nice and loud. For me, yeah? I wanna hear you.”

With Dean practically assaulting his prostate, Richard has little choice. His moans and groans are less actual words and more just _syllables_ now. He can’t even form Dean’s name completely anymore. He can’t move, so transfixed is he on the pleasure that shoots through him from that one tiny spot inside him.

Dean fucks his fingers quicker and harder into Richard now, and Richard’s fingers flex and curl inward convulsively. His throat, already abused by the play, is getting no reprieve; the sounds Dean is forcing out of him are guttural, and if he cared more in that space and time, he’d probably feel his throat burning from how tired it is. It gets worse when Dean shoves his fingers all the way inside, the pads of them right at Richard’s spot, and isolates his movements there. Tiny circling and clutching motions right on Richard’s weakness, and it’s too much and not enough at the same time.

“Fuck,” Richard mewls, “Dean…gonna come…”

“No, you’re not,” Dean tells him, “Not yet. I know you.”

“Dean, _please_.”

“Not yet, babe, not yet.”

“Ah, _Christ_ , Dean!”

Richard’s hips are moving again, bucking into the mattress which won’t give underneath him. “Dean, fuck, _please_!”

Dean’s other hand plants itself on Richard’s hip and pushes, urging him to keep still. “You can take more, right?” he inquires, “One more finger for me, yeah?”

“Anything,” Richard pleads, “Give me anything, just _fuck_ , Dean, please, it’s so good, you’re so good.”

“Sssshh, easy,” Dean replies soothingly, “Easy now, I’ll give you what you want.”

Mercifully, his hand stops thrusting, and Richard is given a bit of a relief, but it doesn’t last long. He hears the _squelch_ of lube being pushed out of its tube, and then _three_ fingers are teasing at his rim, pushing in slowly.

Richard’s hand shoots out and grips at the sheets hard enough to tear them. “Yes,” he breathes, “Fuck…”

“Easy,” Dean says again, a little firmer this time, but it’s not quite so easy to follow when his fingers are moving in shallow thrusts into him, adding a bit more with every thrust. It’s when they’re up to the second knuckle that Richard feels the stretch, and he moans out Dean’s name.

“Too much?” Dean wonders at him.

“I’m fine,” Richard promises with a dry swallow, “Keep moving, I’ll be okay.”

“You’re sure?” Dean offers.

Richard nods urgently. “Please, Dean?”

“Just a little,” Dean tells him, “I don’t want you coming without my cock inside you.”

Richard groans into his pillow. “Dirty fucker,” he sighs. It’s a compliment.

Dean moves his hand, calculated and careful, and Richard tries to relax and think of anything but Dean’s fingers inside him. He doesn’t want to come yet. He wants to do it for Dean, when Dean says he can. He wants to give that to Dean, like it’s some sacred offering to come for him.

But the more he tries to drift away from the moment, the more Dean’s fingers drag him back into it, and before long he’s thrusting against the bed again for friction, and against Dean’s hand for the sting of the stretch.

Dean isn’t helping matters much either.

“That’s it, Rich, that’s good…take what you want from me, go ahead…God, you should see yourself right now, so beautiful like this, all hot and desperate to be fucked.”

 _Dirty fucker_.

“Need it,” Richard hears himself choke out, “Need you to fuck me, Dean.”

“Okay,” Dean replies, “…Okay.”

Again, Dean uses his other hand to hold Richard still, and Richard does his utmost best to obey. Dean is very, very careful as he pulls his hand away, and then they’re kneading and massaging at Richard’s asscheeks again.

“Are you all right?”

Richard barely has the strength or coherence to say yes. “Mm-hm,” he hums instead, and that’s when Dean kisses the back of his neck.

“I need to be inside you,” Dean whispers, “You look so good taking my fingers, I got so turned on and it’s almost fucking _painful_ now.”

Richard apparently has enough blood in his face left to blush at that. He can’t imagine what he must look like, spread for another man whose fingers are halfway up his arse, but Dean makes it sound almost _delicious_.

He hears foil ripping, and the distinct sound of rubber stretching and snapping. “Came prepared, did you?” he snarks at Dean.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Richard,” Dean answers just as flippantly as he finishes rolling the condom on, “I came all the way out here only for sex, you know that.”

Richard has to laugh at that, and even after it dies down, a smile lingers on his lips. They’ve fallen so easily into their familiar banter and mocking, as if no time has passed, as if nothing happened to have changed this at all.

“On your back,” Dean says, “I want to see you.”

Richard turns his head first, and Dean’s is right there. It’s too easy a chance to pass up, so Richard reaches up and kisses him. He feels Dean smile a little at how Richard refuses to break it even as he adjusts on the bed to lie flat on his back. He doesn’t let Dean go even after that; he pulls Dean flush against him, on top of him, holding onto his hips and grinding his cock into Dean’s pelvis. He can feel Dean’s erection against him too, and Richard raises his knees for a bit more leverage, effectively keeping Dean in place.

“Oh God,” Dean moans, “Oh, you fucking cheater.”

Whatever comeback Richard might have had for Dean is lost when Dean kisses him again, sliding his hands down and grabbing at Richard’s butt to encourage him to keep going. When Dean breaks the kiss, he chortles into Richard’s shoulder.

“Eager, are we?” he sighs against Richard.

“De _eeeee_ an,” Richard half-whines, and Dean laughs again.

“Hush, you,” Dean says, squeezing at Richard’s flesh to get him to keep still. When that doesn’t work, he lifts himself onto his knees and away from Richard.

“Cheat,” Richard breathes.

Dean reaches down to his belly, where Richard has left traces of pre-come on his skin. “Tsk tsk, look what you’ve done,” Dean says, “You’ve gone and made a mess.” He raises his sullied fingers to his lips and licks them clean, all the while making sure Richard can see. “Bad little Richard.”

“You’re a goddamn tease, Dean O’Gorman,” Richard mewls.

“Yes, I am, Richard Armitage,” answers Dean, reaching down again to circle his finger around Richard’s slick entrance, “Yes, I fucking am.”

Richard’s head falls back into the pillow under him. “Oh God, Dean,” he moans, fingers losing their hold on Dean as one knee falls back to the bed.

“Better,” Dean compliments, kissing Richard’s jawline, “Much better.” He pulls at Richard until he’s lined up at his rim, and kisses him again. Richard swears he’s drowning in Dean’s kisses, but he doesn’t care, can’t when before he knows it, Dean’s slicked, covered prick is pushing into him, past that first resistance, until he’s about halfway.

 “You all right?” asks Dean, and Richard can only nod at him. “I’ll go slow, I promise. Fuck, you feel really good already.”

 “Keep going,” Richard urges, voice hoarse.

Dean doesn’t hesitate, but Richard can feel him straining to stay in control as he slides further into him. It’s not enough for Richard, and he grabs Dean’s hips and pulls him the rest of the way in, until Dean’s hips are flush against him. They both cry out, the pitches of their voices unexpectedly blending together.

“Fuck, Richard,” Dean gasps.

“Move,” Richard begs, “Dean, _please_.”

Dean’s arms are shaking slightly, but he obliges. Hooking his arm around Richard’s leg, he withdraws his hips until he’s about halfway out, and slams back into Richard. Richard moans low, eyes snapping shut just as his mouth falls open.

“Ssshh,” Dean coos, leaning down to kiss Richard’s chin and jaw, “You’re okay.”

“I won’t be if you don’t _fucking do something_ ,” Richard pants, following it with a small laugh.

“Oh, if you insist,” Dean snorts, kissing him full on the mouth and shuffling slightly between Richard’s legs. And then his hips start to really move, snapping roughly against Richard, who can’t help but growl in need. If he were more coherent, he’d realize he was growling mainly to cover up how loudly his brain had just thought _“fucking FINALLY_ ” at him.

“Fuck,” Dean breathes, “I’d nearly forgotten how tight you are.”

Richard feels himself flush at that point, and he can only imagine how red he must be, and fuck Dean, _fuck Dean_ for his ability to do that to him at the drop of a fucking hat.

“Fuck, Dean,” he hears himself say when Dean bends down to suck a little mark into the skin just above Richard’s collarbone, “I still have to work, you know.”

But he’s laughing, and so is Dean, who is licking at the abused spot to soothe it. “You like danger,” Dean points out, kissing him again , knees dipping a little lower into the bed as he thrusts _up_ and –

“ _Shit_.”

Richard’s hands scramble for purchase at anything they can reach. He can feel himself trembling, his fingers trying to punch holes into Dean’s arm and in the sheets.

“Gotcha,” Dean moans, not wasting any more time. He rocks hard against Richard, who can feel him watching his face.

“Harder,” Richard groans, “Dean, come on, _harder_.”

Dean looks like he’s about to say something, but Richard pulls him in for a harsh kiss. When Dean gasps and moans into his mouth, Richard experiences a surge of savage satisfaction. _Two can play this game_.

It does what Richard wanted it to do – Dean goes harder, rougher, grunting with the effort, and Richard encourages him with little whispers and throaty moans, clutching at him and scratching at his back and hips. He wants Dean to feel just how much he’s missed him, and if he reads a bit of apology into it, that’s not bad either.

It takes Richard Herculean strength to open his eyes, but he’s grateful when he does. Dean’s brows are knit in both concentration and rapture, his thin lips parted as he moans and gasps, sweat slowly rolling down his beautiful nose. Richard doesn’t fight the urge to reach up and lick it off.

“Oh, don’t you dare,” Dean chuckles breathlessly, “That’s so unfair, you fucker.”

As if trying to punish him for his little display, Dean rams quicker into Richard, whose hand spasms and lets go of Dean. The onslaught to his prostate is almost too much now, and Richard reaches down between them and strokes himself quickly and tightly, trying to match Dean’s rhythm, but Dean swats his hand away.

“Nope,” he tells Richard, grabbing Richard’s wrist and pinning it to the bed, “Just me, babe. Just me.”

But Richard fights him this time, pulling his hand away and wrapping it around himself again. “That _is_ you,” Richard manages to say, he’s not sure how, but he manages it, “Fuck, Dean, that’s all you.”

The look on Dean’s face tells Richard’ he’s _actually_ run out of words, and Richard can’t help but reach up and kiss him to keep the smugness off his own face.

“Fuck, turn over,” Dean breathes urgently, “Get on your fucking knees for me.”

Richard hears himself whimper when Dean quickly withdraws himself – the sudden emptiness is _strange_ , for some odd reason. But Richard doesn’t have much time to dwell on it; Dean’s hands are urging him to turn, and he’s whispering “come on, Rich” impatiently, and it’s _cute_ , it’s so _cute_ that Richard is almost tempted to delay moving.

But then Dean swats him on the thigh, the sound as sharp as the sting. Richard moans and hisses, a little surprised to know his cock had actually fucking _twitched_ in interest. “Are you gonna be a good boy for me, Rich,” Dean asks, slipping his hands underneath Richard and squeezing at his bum for all he’s worth, “Or am I going to have to teach you a lesson or two?”

Richard pauses, unable to keep a smug smirk off his face. “…Well,” he answers, and gets himself another urgent squeeze at that, “ _Hhhnnggg_.”

“I wasn’t kidding,” Dean states, tone low and serious, and the look in his eyes is hungry, bordering on predatory. Richard loves it.

“I wasn’t either,” Richard tells him, rising up onto his elbows to give Dean a quick, possessive kiss before finally obliging, turning onto his stomach. There are feather-light but insistent kisses going up his calf, behind his knee, up his thigh. And then there are teeth on one side of his bum, a hand palming the other, and he lets himself let out a small, keening hum into his own arm.

And then Dean is knelt between his splayed legs, urging Richard’s hips up, and before Richard can even consider obeying, he’s pulling Richard up himself. The next thing Richard feels is a kiss to his rear, and then a lick at one cheek while a hand squeezes at the other.

“Dean…” Richard trails off but before he can say more, Dean’s tongue is teasing at his loosened pucker, and whatever Richard was about to say dissipates into a whimper that he lets out through his nose.

“There’s that sound,” Richard vaguely hears Dean laugh behind him, “Missed that like the dickens.”

Two fingers join Dean’s tongue now, pegging Richard where he’s most sensitive, and he can feel himself trembling, unable to keep control of his body under Dean’s onslaught. Richard moans into the pillows underneath him, hands fisting and clutching at the sheets hard enough to almost tear them, having completely forgotten that a while ago, he’d been reticent about Dean’s mouth being there.

“Bet I could make you come like this, Rich,” Dean huffs, twisting his hand so he can rest his thumb at the space between Richard’s rim and balls, “Wouldn’t that be something?” As if for emphasis, he puts just enough pressure at Richard’s perineum to make him mewl.

“Why?” Richard pants, unable to keep a smirk off his face, even though he knows Dean can’t see it from where he is, “You don’t think you can make me come from just your cock?”

But Dean laughs darkly, and it goes straight to Richard’s aching erection. “I think you and I both know I’ve proven that I can quite a few times already,” he replies, “But I mean, if that’s a challenge...”

With one more kiss and squeeze to Richard’s bum, Dean pulls away. Richard hears the distinct _squelch_ of lube, and then Dean’s fingers are probing in him again, slicking the way once more. Richard can’t help the small shudder that goes through him.

“Cold,” he tells Dean.

“You can never be too careful though,” Dean replies as he scissors his fingers slowly inside Richard again. Richard sighs, his head dropping between his arms. He bites his lips against the minute mewls coming from his throat. Dean is taking his time, and he’s not sure that’s really for his benefit more than it is for Dean’s.

One more loving bite to Richard’s ass, and then Dean’s fingers come out, the mattress shifting under them as Dean rises to his knees behind Richard. The head of Dean’s erection traces light circles around his entrance before slowly sliding back into him, Dean groaning quietly as the feel of Richard wraps around him again.

“Ah _fuck_ ,” Dean sighs, and with that, he angles his hips and thrusts, slow and almost calculating at first, and it’s only then that Richard realizes Dean really _did_ take his earlier comment as a challenge. He chuckles a little, and Dean swats his ass. “No laughing,” he reprimands, but Richard can hear the smile in his voice.

Before long, Dean is picking up the pace and the roughness, grabbing at Richard’s hips and pulling him against him to meet him midway. Another adjusting of the angle, and one particularly good, hard ram, and Dean finds Richard’s sensitivity again. Richard moans out loud, his jaw dropping open, and then his teeth click together as he growls out Dean’s name.

Dean bends over him, kisses his shoulder blade. “I love you,” he whispers hoarsely at Richard, hips pounding hard against Richard’s arse, “Fucking love you, Richard.”

Eyes squeezed shut, mouth hanging ajar, brain melted into pudding, Richard can’t reply. Instead he reaches for Dean’s hand where it’s gripping Richard’s waist, twines their fingers together. How did he go so long without this?

Richard just barely hears himself plead Dean to go faster, harder. He barely feels Dean’s nails digging into his flesh as he obliges with a grunt, his other hand splayed on the small of Richard’s back. He barely fights the urge to reach down and start stroking himself tight, not even attempting to mimic Dean’s pace.

“I’m close,” Dean manages to tell him breathlessly, body still pistoning against Richard, “Fucking close, Rich, can you feel that?”

Richard can only nod, not even caring if Dean sees it or not. He tries to speed up his own hand, because fuck, he’s close too, but it’s not enough, strangely, frustratingly not enough.

“Dean…” Richard begs, “Dean…”

He can’t articulate what he wants – needs – but he doesn’t have to. Bending a little, Dean urges Richard’s hand away and replaces it with his own, his fist going at the same timing as his cock, and _now_ it’s perfect, _now_ Richard is trembling and unsteady, his knees widening of their own accord to give Dean more space to really _ram_ into him.

“Gonna make you come first, Richard,” Dean says, voice rough with his own arousal and effort, “You’re gonna be such a mess.”

“ _Please_ ,” is all Richard can manage to reply with, because Dean’s fist is twisting around the head of his dick, his thumb padding at the vein and the slit. Richard’s belly is tightening, his climax coiling inside him.

“God yeah, Richard, that’s it,” Dean sighs, “Move for me. _Fuck_.”

And it’s only then that Richard becomes conscious of thrusting into Dean’s fist and back around his erection. Richard can’t even stop to think about how ridiculous he must look, grinding against Dean on his hands and knees. He’s on fire, both inside and out, and he needs _so much_.

“Come on, Richard,” Dean coos breathlessly, “I’m here, I’m right here…Come on, let go.”

As if to make sure Richard obeys, the hand on Richard’s length reaches further, grasping his bollocks before he presses a finger at Richard’s perineum.

“Fuck!” Richard growls, the pressure just _this side_ of too much for him to stop, and as soon as Dean’s hand wraps tight around his cock again, corkscrewing around the head, his release hits, his arms weakening and making him fall into the pillows underneath him as he groans. He shudders and trembles, his entire body spasming in Dean’s grip as his orgasm stains the sheets beneath them.

All the while, Dean fucks him. Dean fucks him through his climax, fucks him through the tiny aftershocks, fucks him as his body gives up and gives in, and he falls flat onto his front, Dean following. Richard sighs as Dean moans and whimpers into his ear, his movements becoming harsher and more erratic. He wants to tell him it’s okay, or to urge him on, or to let him know he wants him and has missed him, but he can’t even find the voice or the strength for it.

There’s a very distinct sound Dean makes just before he comes. It’s the only time Richard ever hears him make it, this hard, guttural choke or cough of sorts, almost like a wheeze. It’s more adorable than it is sexy. Richard remembers Dean blushing about it the first time Richard had told him about it ages ago.

He makes that sound now, and a split second later he’s rushing to withdraw from Richard. He feels Dean press along the cleft of his bum, stroking himself quickly, and then with a choked off moan, Dean is coming, his release sputtering onto Richard’s skin.

Richard doesn’t know how long it goes for, but when Dean is spent, he collapses to Richard’s side, panting for breath and kissing Richard’s shoulder fervently. With a weak arm, Richard tries to reach for him, and they both chuckle softly when all Richard manages to do is flop his hand against Dean’s ass.

“You okay?” Richard asks him, and Dean laughs louder.

“Am _I_ okay? Are _you_ okay?” he replies, hand in Richard’s hair as he drops another kiss on his shoulder blade, “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been run over by a truck,” Richard answers and Dean guffaws. Richard joins him, and Dean takes the opportunity to lean in and kiss him properly, his tongue sweeping along Richard’s lips until it gains entrance.

“I missed you,” Dean tells him, looking dreamy as he prods at Richard’s nose with a finger.

“Get away from my nose,” Richard says, and they both dissolve into peals of laughter again as Richard begins to rise from the bed. “I’ll get a cloth.”

But Dean pats him back down onto the bed. “I’ll get it,” he tells Richard, biting at Richard’s shoulder, “Stay.”

“Oh, thank God,” Richard jokes as Dean pushes himself off the bed and walks to the bathroom, “I don’t think I’m not gonna be able to walk properly for a while after that.”

Dean scoffs playfully. “You’re only saying that because I fucked your brains silly,” he answers, a small wet towel in his hand. He lands another kiss in Richard’s hair. “Seriously though, how’re you feeling?”

Richard returns the favor with a little peck to Dean’s knuckles. “I’m fine,” he tells Dean, “I promise.”

Dean is gentle and thorough as he cleans Richard off, and even when he urges Richard onto his back. Dean bends low and licks a stripe through the mess on Richard’s stomach, and fuck if that doesn’t make Richard jerk just a little, his spent cock twitching slightly in interest. But then Dean takes the wet cloth to him and wipes, kissing his way up Richard’s torso to his mouth to quieten him.

“I’ve missed you,” Dean says again, stroking through Richard’s hair, “Can I stay here tonight?”

Richard inexplicably busts out in laughter.

\--+--+--+--+--+--

Richard slowly wakes to an empty bedside, the smell of instant coffee permeating the room. The telly is turned on, CNN playing at a low volume. Richard hears a door click open, and turns to the bathroom to find Dean coming out, wearing only his undone jeans as he towels himself dry.

“And lo, he awakens,” Dean greets as Richard stretches and sits up, “Good sleep?”

“Yeah,” Richard answers, and he knows he’s smiling, “It’s my day off today.”

Dean sits at the edge of the bed, grinning at Richard. “Yes it is,” he replies, “That’s why I took the liberty of getting room service for breakfast, I hope you don’t mind. I’ll pay for it, of course.”

Richard almost tells him that there’s no need, he’s happy to get it for them both, but decides against it at the last minute. “Thanks,” he says instead, accepting a kiss from Dean.

“So,” says Dean, a friendly pat to Richard’s raised knee, “What do you want to do today?”

Richard shrugs. “I don’t really know,” he says honestly, “I _had_ plans until you showed up.”

Dean looks almost apologetic. Almost.

“I don’t fly back home until tomorrow morning,” Dean informs him, “Moved my flight while you were sleeping. So I’m at your service all day today.”

He gives Richard a small bow, which Richard gamely returns. “So,” Richard says, “What _do_ we want to do today?”

Dean pulls his legs up onto the bed, crossing them underneath him. “Well, I was hoping we could…I don’t know…” Dean starts, sounding hesitant, “Maybe explore… _this_ ,” he waves his finger in the space between the two of them, “Whatever _this_ is right now.”

Richard catches his hand and puts his lips to Dean’s wrist. “I don’t really know what _this_ is either,” he confesses, “But I like it. I’ve missed it.”

Dean doesn’t seem to have anything else to say to that; he smiles shyly, head down, dimples still in full display as he picks at the blanket underneath him.

“Can I ask you a question?” asks Richard, because it’s on his mind.

“Shoot,” Dean allows.

“Did you mean what you said last night? When you said…”

“…When I said?”

Richard swallows. Why is it so hard for him to say? “When you said you loved me?” he manages after a few seconds, each of which feel like an eternity, “Did you mean it? Or was that just -”

“A spur-of-the-moment, oh-my-God-you-feel-so-fucking-good-on-my-cock thing?” Dean finishes for him, making Richard choke back a laugh.

“That’s one way to put it, yeah,” chuckles Richard.

Dean shrugs, turns a tad red. “I meant it,” he says softly, “I mean, I know we’ve got some…things to work out, but you know, I’m willing to try, _because_ I love you, and I miss you. I’d mean it even if you didn’t want to try and work things out.”

“Lucky for us both that I do then,” Richard promises, and just as a set of knocks rings through the room, Dean smiles at him again, sweet and relieved.

“How about we start with you coming down to Aotearoa one day so I can take your picture?” Dean suggests as he gets up to get the door.

“Sounds fantastic,” Richard answers, and he means it this time.

 

**~ END. ~  
(for now)**


End file.
